Hawthorn And Unicorn Hair, 10 Inches
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: Draco wants to hide her from the world, but nowhere is safe for Hermione Granger in the realm of the Dark Lord.


**I'm very grateful to my lovely beta misslexilouwho; any remaining mistakes are my own. This was originally written for the DramioneLove Minifest on LiveJournal.**

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 **Hawthorn And Unicorn Hair, 10 Inches**

 **-oOo-**

"I cannot protect you if you go out there." Draco's mask was hanging askew, and Hermione had to fight the impulse to tell him he never would make it as a Death Eater if he couldn't keep it on. It was much too late for jokes, though.

"I know," she said instead. "I don't expect you to. You've done so much already." She still couldn't recognise the petulant boy she had gone to school with in the hollow-faced fighter who had swept her away from his comrades-in-arms to stow her away. Somewhere safe.

As much as anywhere was safe these days.

For months, he kept her hidden in one of his father's old safe-houses, turning up every few days with food and ever-worsening news. Hermione wasn't the first fugitive to hole up here – someone had drawn the symbol of the Hallows on the kitchen wall, and she was very sure it wasn't a Death Eater.

If it had been – if the other side knew – the war would already have been over.

Draco seemed to have shed any illusions about the nobility of his cause along with his prejudices. At first, she had expected him to torture her, or to attempt to trick her into his confidence. After a few weeks she was so lonely, she decided to let him try.

He just seemed to be starved of human contact, or at least the type that didn't involve Unforgivables. They talked, like they might have talked at school if blood bigotry hadn't got in the way, and they had both been sorted in Ravenclaw. It was a way to pretend the world outside wasn't on fire, that life still went on like it always had. A two-hour argument about Charms was the best fun Hermione'd had in years, and somehow it figured it would be with Draco Malfoy.

Nothing else had turned out the way she had planned, so why would this?

The news from outside was bad. Very bad. The Order must be down to their last dozen of fighters, although she didn't tell Draco that.

Hermione was possibly the last person in Britain who knew how Voldemort could be defeated, and she couldn't afford to stay hidden any longer. She had been afraid Draco would show his true colours when she wanted to leave; she hadn't counted on being floored by the desperate expression on his face, and how he tried to cover it up almost immediately.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had lost far too many people already, just like she had.

"Take this," he said as Hermione wrapped her borrowed robes around her tightly, preparing to Apparate. Something thin and long was pressed into her hands.

"What – Your wand!" Whole wands were few and far between since Ollivander's disappearance half a decade ago. Both sides made do with mended ones, or home-made substitutes. Real wands were rare. With a proper wand, Hermione's chances of surviving her mission almost hit double-digits. "I can't take that."

Even if Draco passed it off as an accident, his punishment for losing a wand would be severe.

"Consider it compensation for all the stupid things I did at school. Up to and including attempted murder."

If it had just been about Draco and Hermione, she would never have taken it. This was bigger than just the two of them, though – if Voldemort wasn't stopped, it would be the end of everything and everyone she had ever loved. The times weren't even desperate any longer – this was the very last chance anyone would have to bring down the Dark Lord of Britain.

She took the wand.

The last thing she saw before she Apparated was Draco's hand, stretching out to touch hers. She felt the soft tips of his fingers before she spun out of his grasp.

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It wasn't until much later, when the borders had been re-opened again, that someone could explain why Draco's wand, willingly given, had defeated Voldemort when so many others had failed. Amit Chowdhury, one of the finest wand scholars in the world, examined the remains of the Elder Wand and Draco's wand, which miraculously still was in one piece.

"Wands remember, you know."

Hermione stared at the piece of hawthorn wood that had proved powerful beyond her wildest dreams. It didn't look that clever.

"As the great Albus Dumbledore said, love has power beyond the reach of any magic."

"Did he really say that?" Draco asked dubiously, and Hermione elbowed him to stay quiet.

"The Master of the Elder Wand, given in love – that's real power." The Indian wizard beamed at them, and Hermione suddenly didn't know what to think.

She turned to Draco, and was astonished to see him blushing for the first time since she'd met him when they were eleven years old. "Love?" she asked, disbelief tinged with wonder in her voice.

"I see I may have been a bit premature," Chowdhury said tactfully, distancing himself from them. "Nevertheless, those things are worth savouring. Only love can heal our world again."

"Loon," Draco said to his retreating back. Still, when Hermione sneaked her hand into his, he held on to it as if she was threatening to sneak off to attack Voldemort a second time.

 **THE END**


End file.
